Alan Dean Foster: Alien - 3

‘Fuck you. I’m sorry as hell you got this thing inside you, lady, but I want to get rescued. I guess I’ve got more confidence in the Company than you. As it happens, I don’t think you’re looking at the situation rationally, and I suppose you’ve got plenty of reasons not to. But that doesn’t mean I have to see things the same way, and I don’t.

‘I don’t give a shit about these meatball prisoners. They can kill the thing or avoid it and howl holy hosannas to the heavens until they drop dead, but I got a wife and kid. Married real young so that despite the time distortions we’d still have quality time together when I finished my tour here. I was set to go back on the next rotation. Because of all this I can maybe claim extenuating hazards and go back with the rescue ship. I’ll collect full-term pay and probably a bonus. If that happens you could say that your xenomorph’s done me a favour.’

‘I’m sorry. Look, I know this is hard for you,’ she told him, trying to keep a rein on her temper, ‘but I’ve got to send a message back. There’s a hell of a lot more at stake here than your personal visions of happy suburban retirement. If the alien gets loose on Earth your sappy fantasies won’t be worth crap.’

‘I’ll put my trust in the Company,’ he said firmly.

‘Dammit, Aaron, I need the code!’

He leaned back in the seat. ‘Sorry, mum. It’s classified. Can’t expect me to violate the regs, can you?’

She knew she didn’t have much time and she was starting to lose it. Here she was, dealing with the Company attitude again — that closed, restricted corporate world where ethics and morals were conveniently masked by regulations.

‘Look, shithead, you can screw your precious regulations. It’s got to be done. Give it to me!’

‘No fuckin’ way, lady. You don’t get the code out of me without killing me first.’

She bent toward him, then forced herself to ease off. Once again she found herself tired beyond imagining. Why was she driving herself like this? She didn’t owe anybody anything, least of all the representatives of the Company. If they took the alien on board their ship and it killed all of them, what was that to her?

‘Nothing personal, you understand,’ he was saying even as he was watching her carefully, alert for any sudden moves. He didn’t think she posed him any real danger, but in the short time that he’d seen her operate he’d learned enough to know that it would be dangerous to underestimate her. ‘I think you’re okay.’

‘Thanks.’ Her tone was flat, dulled.

‘So that’s settled. We’re working together again.’ He was inordinately pleased. ‘Got any ideas?’

She turned and he tensed momentarily, but she kept going past him to the service counter and drew herself a glass of water. Her thirst was constant and not due to tension and nerves. Her body was supplying fluids for more than one.

‘The worker-warrior won’t kill me,’ she told him as she halted nearby.

His eyebrows rose. ‘Oh, yeah? Why not?’

She sipped at the glass. ‘It can’t nail me without risking the health of the embryonic queen. And while I know that one of them can reproduce others of its kind, it may not be able to produce more than a single queen. Not enough of the right genetic material or something. I don’t know that for a fact, but the proof is that it hasn’t tried to kill me so far.’

‘You really want to bet this thing’s that smart?’

‘Smarts may not have anything to do with it. It may be pure instinct. Damage the host and you risk premature damage to the unborn queen. It makes sense.’ She met his gaze. ‘It could’ve killed me twice already, but it didn’t. It knows what I’m carrying.’ She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

‘I’m going to find it,’ she announced suddenly. ‘We’ll see how smart it is.’

He gaped at her. ‘You’re gonna go look for it?’

‘Yeah. I got a pretty good idea where it is. It’s just up there in the attic.’

He frowned. ‘What attic? We don’t have an attic.’

‘It’s a metaphor.’ She finished the water.

‘Oh.’ He was staring at her.

‘Wanna come?’

He shook his head. She smiled, put the glass back in its holder, and turned to exit the communications room. Aaron followed her with his eyes.

‘Fuck me,’ he murmured to no one in particular.

The access corridor was empty. Pausing, she jammed the torch she’d been carrying into a seam in the wall, studying the line of aged, rusting pipes nearby. Grabbing the nearest, she braced herself and yanked hard. The metal snapped and bent toward her. A second yank broke it free. Satisfied, she continued on.

The infirmary seemed more deserted than ever. She paused for a look around, half expecting to see Clemens bent over his workstation, glancing up to grin in her direction. The computer was dark and silent, the chair empty.

It was hard to pull herself up into the overhead air duct while manipulating both the five-foot length of pipe and the flashlight, but she managed. The duct was dark and empty.

Adjusting the battered flashlight for wide beam, she flashed it behind her before starting off in the opposite direction.

Exactly how long or how far she crawled before she started calling, she didn’t know; only that the faint light from the infirmary had long since faded behind her. Her shouts were muted at first, then louder as fear gave way to anger. Her fate was inevitable. She just had to know. She had to see that thing face-to-face.

‘Come on! I know you’re here!’ She advanced on hands and knees. ‘Come on. Just do what you do.’

The air vent bent sharply to the left. She kept moving, alternately muttering and shouting. ‘Come on, you shithead.

Where are you when I need you?’

Her knees were getting raw when she finally paused, listening intently. A noise? Or her own imagination, working overtime?

‘Shit.’ She resumed her awkward, uncomfortable advance, turning another corner.

It opened into an alcove large enough to allow her to stand.

Gratefully she climbed to her feet, stretching. The alcove was home to a decrepit, rusting water purification unit consisting of a thousand-gallon tank and a maze of neglected pipes.

Behind the tank the ventilation duct stretched off before her, an endless, difficult-to-negotiate tube of darkness. As she stared a fresh wave of nausea overcame her and she leaned against the tank for support.

As she did so an alien tail flicked out and knocked the flashlight from her fingers.

It landed on the concrete floor, spinning but staying lit. Ripley whirled, a feeling of desperation creeping up her spine.

The alien peered out at her from within the network of pipes and conduits where it had been resting. It regarded her.

‘You fucker,’ she muttered as she gathered her strength.

Then she rammed the metal pipe directly into its thorax.

With an echoing roar it exploded from behind the maze, metal pipes giving way like straws. Fully aroused and alert, it crouched directly in front of her, thick gelatinous saliva dripping from its outer jaws.

She held her ground, straightening. ‘Come on, fucker. Kill me!’ When it didn’t react she slammed at it again with the pipe.

With a roar it reached out and slapped the pipe away, stood glaring at her. Sweat pouring down her face, she continued to stare back.

Then it whirled and bolted into the darkness. She slumped, gazing after it.

‘Bastard.’

Dillon found the lieutenant in the assembly hall, seated by herself in the huge, deeply shadowed room. She sat with her head in her hands, utterly exhausted, utterly alone. The fire axe dangling from his right hand, he walked over and halted nearby. She must have been aware of his presence, but she did nothing to acknowledge it.